


To Pretend That You & I Are Home

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Minnesota Wild, Nashville Predators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Suter stops by his house in Nashville that he's trying to sell and finds that Shea's moved in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Pretend That You & I Are Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elqiao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elqiao/gifts).



> Elqiao tweeted the summary. I started to reply with this story in 140 character chunks. It was two in the morning. I put on a pandora station based on Uncle Tupelo and almost drowned in feelings.  
> All my thanks to Stellarer for her brilliant and speedy beta job. We were in videochat when she read this the first time, and she made great sad faces. <3  
> This story is basically a sad country song.  
> The title is from the song, “Not Home Anymore,” by Whiskeytown. You should all go listen to it right now, because that song is basically this fic.

Their first road game of the season is Nashville. The hockey gods aren’t smiling on Ryan. If he had his way he might never go back.

They fly in the night before the game. There’s a team dinner, but afterwards Ryan excuses himself. He still has a house here. It hasn't sold after a year and a half on the market. Now it’s sitting half empty, except for things he left behind and the accessories the realtor brought over to dress it up. He should check on it while he’s in town.

The porch light is on.

It could be automatic, something the realtor set up to make the place look inhabited. But that’s Shea’s truck in the driveway. Ryan would recognize it anywhere. There’s still a ding on the side from the time he drove it into Shea’s garage. Shea should have gotten that fixed by now. 

Shea still has a key. They weren't talking when Ryan left so he never had a chance to ask for it back. Shea still has a key, but Ryan doesn’t know why he’d want to be here.

Ryan doesn’t know why he’s here. He just wanted to look around, appreciating any four walls that weren't a hotel room. Anything that would make this city seem hospitable again.

The dogs greet him at the door. He scratches Dug behind the ear, and lets Rod lick his hand. Dogs are simpler than humans. They don't stop loving as easily. He doesn't know why the dogs are here. The whole house seems lived in. There's a bottle on the coffee table and unwashed dishes in the sink.

He goes looking for Shea, because this isn't healthy, it isn't normal. It's been more than a year. Ryan's moved on, Shea should too.

Shea's upstairs, asleep in what had been their bed. Ryan doesn’t know what. He can't. This isn't. He leans against the wall and sighs.

It can’t be right that he’s enjoying watching his ex sleep. But Ryan can't remember the last time he saw Shea look this peaceful. He used to sleep next to Shea night after night, but now they only see each other on the ice, wearing different colors.

He misses Shea. He doesn’t regret leaving, and he loves his life in Minnesota, but he still misses Shea. He misses how it used to be, when they were good together. That wasn’t how it was when he left. He tried. They both did. But nothing they did came close to fixing it. Eventually Ryan got tired of trying. Leaving may have been taking the coward’s way out.

He wonders if tried hard enough.

It doesn’t matter now. Now it’s far too late.

He shouldn’t stand here watching his ex sleep. Shea shouldn’t be sleeping here. Ryan’s house should have sold already. When he saw that Shea was in the house he should have walked away. When he opened the bedroom door and found Shea sleeping he should have turned around and left; he’s good at that.

Shea turns over in his sleep. He was always a restless sleeper. He used to kick. Ryan would have bruises. Shea would apologize in the morning and hold him closer. Ryan doesn’t want to think about it.

He shouldn’t just stand here.

He really shouldn’t sit down on the end of the bed. Dug takes that as an invitation to jump up too. Shoving him off is a reflex: no dogs on the bed. Two hockey players and four good sized dogs can’t sleep together comfortably, not even in a king sized bed. Maybe Shea’s gotten changed the rules though.

Dug struggles to keep his feet under him, nails scrambling over the hardwood floor. He half falls on Rod, who had been sleeping on a Shea’s discarded jeans. Rod lets out a startled bark.

Ryan stops breathing.

Shea’s awake. He sits up slowly, letting the covers fall around his waist. He isn’t wearing a shirt. He looks good.

“Fuck. I can’t even get rid of you when I'm dreaming.” Shea’s voice is still rough from sleep, achingly familiar.

“You’re not asleep,” Ryan tells him. “I came to see the house. Instead I found — all of this. I don’t know what it is.”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“It’s my house.”

“Well, you aren’t living in it, so go away.”

Shea is always cranky right when he wakes up. Ryan doesn't know why he's trying to talk. “Why are you here?” He asks.

Shea rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Why are you?”

“It’s my house,” Ryan says.

“Yeah, well, it’s my city.”

That cuts. 

This used to be their city. But it was never Shea’s house, not really. They never shared a house, never had a real home together.

“Look, it’s my damn house,” Ryan says. “You can’t just stay here.”

“You’re selling it, right? How much? I’ll buy it,” Shea says.

“Shea—”

“It’s just a fucking house. You don’t want it, I do.”

That isn’t the point. Ryan doesn’t give a damn about the house. 

“This can’t be healthy.”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“You know, I’m not sure I do. I’d forgotten what a dick you can be, thanks for the reminder.”

“You know, I never forgot. I've always remembered just how awful you are.”

This is just so goddamn stupid. Ryan doesn’t want to do this again. 

“Jesus Christ Shea, if I’m so bad can you just be happy without me? Is it really that hard?”

Dug is nosing at Shea’s hand, looking for attention or maybe a late night snack. Shea is stroking him absently, not meeting Ryan’s eyes, not looking at him at all.

“Yes,” Shea says. Just that. Just yes. Yes, it is that hard.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says. He should have said that a year ago, but Shea wouldn’t have heard him.

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

Ryan shrugs. He doesn’t even care. Nothing he could do will make it better. It was still the right thing to say.

“If we have to talk at least let me put on my fucking pants.”

Ryan nods and gets up. It wouldn’t be enough to look away. He leaves the room, heads downstairs, helps himself to a beer from the fridge. It’s Shea’s beer, but it’s his fridge.

Shea comes down wearing threadbare jeans and an old Preds shirt. Ryan recognizes the clothes from the bedroom floor. He has his dumb professor glasses on. Ryan always had a soft spot for them. He doesn’t think he ever told Shea that.

Shea gets his own beer and joins him in the living room. It feels strange to have this much space between them on the couch.

“You can’t live here,” Ryan says. At the end of the day that’s just a fact. Ryan is going to sell this house, and he wouldn’t be comfortable selling it to Shea. 

“I’m not,” Shea says. “Not really. It’s just that sometimes I — We’re going to play you tomorrow, and I was thinking about —” Shea starts to mumble, and Ryan has to lean forward to hear,“—I guess I miss you sometimes?” Shea doesn’t seem confident in this statement at all.

Ryan understands. At least he thinks he does.

“We had some good times here. Before…”

“Before it all went to hell.”

“Yeah.”

“You just left,” Shea said. “It was all fucked up, then you just left.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says. There really isn’t anything else for him to say.

“Yeah, well. . .I’m not sure it would have been any better if you’d stuck around. If you hadn’t left first, I’m not sure what I would have done.”

“We could both have handled it a lot better.”

“But you’re the one who left.”

Ryan isn’t going to argue about that. It’s true. He’s the one who left. He’s the one who got out.

Shea’s the one who decided that’s the only thing that matters.

“Yeah, I left. And things weren’t great before that. So why aren’t you moving on?” Ryan would feel so much better if it at least seemed like Shea was trying.

“Don’t know,” Shea says. “Guess I was too busy being mad at you.”

Ryan is tired. “I’m not worth it.”

“Probably not.”

Shea’s next question is a surprise. “Are you happy?”

Ryan doesn’t have to think about it. “Yeah, I really am.” He’s got something good in Minnesota. It’s a good team, he’s close to his family, and he’s with someone who he not only loves, but who he can talk to. He and Shea were never good at that.

“I still hate you,” Shea says.

“That’s fair.”

“And I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Ryan admits. “I want you to be as happy as I am.”

“Yeah, well.” Shea sighs. “Maybe someday.”

“I hope so,” Ryan says.

There's nothing else to say. Ryan could apologize again, but repetition isn’t going to make Shea believe him. 

"I should go." He has to get back to the hotel before curfew. He has to get a good night’s sleep. There's a game tomorrow. And there's nothing else to say. 

"You don't have to get out tonight, but when I get back to the Cities I'm going to call the realtor and tell her to change the locks."

Shea doesn't say anything to that. Ryan has no idea what he's thinking. 

Ryan calls a cab. He goes out to the front porch so he'll see when it gets there. 

Shea stands in the doorway, not saying anything. 

Ryan doesn't know how to say goodbye. Last time he just left. There's something he should have learned from the mess that came after, something that would make this work. He doesn't know what that's supposed to be. 

He scratches behind Dug's ear, and the dog presses into his touch. The two of them always a got along well. Ryan likes dogs because they don't want to talk about the past. 

The taxi pulls up, and it's time to go. Ryan still doesn't know have a clue what to say. 

"Well, I guess I'll see you around."

Shea just grunts. 

Ryan starts down the walk, but turns around halfway to the street. Shea hasn't gone inside, he's watching Ryan depart. 

"I _am_ sorry," Ryan says again. "I left for me, not because of you."

It doesn't matter. 

"Just go," Shea says.

Riding through the familiar Nashville streets, Ryan tries not to doubt his decisions. He left. It's done. There's no going back. It's no good that Shea's trying to hold onto something that's gone.

Ryan’s moved on. Zach's already in bed when he gets back to the hotel. Ryan strips down to his boxers and curls around Zach's back. 

"How's the house?" He asks. 

"Fine." Ryan doesn't know how to explain what happened. He doesn't want to make Zach worry. "I just want to go home."

"Less than a week and we'll be back in the Cities. The first trip of the season is always the worst."

"Yeah." Ryan pulls Zach even closer, rubbing his face against Zach's neck. He doesn't have anything to say. He's used up all of his words trying to talk to Shea. All he can do is hold on. 

"Come on, let's just sleep. The game tomorrow is going to be fine. They only boo you because they’re sad you left."

"Yeah, alright." Ryan's tired. He can go to sleep — that's the all he wants; he wants to go home and he wants to go to sleep. He doesn't want to leave. He already did that once. He left, and now he's where he is, and he might be sorry about how that hurt Shea, but he doesn't have any regrets. Leaving was the right thing to do.


End file.
